


Thinking Like a Machine

by doorrepairgirl



Category: Bon Cop Bad Cop (2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorrepairgirl/pseuds/doorrepairgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you get a good cop for Christmas?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking Like a Machine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lamardeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/gifts).



Martin's hands were slick with tomato innards when he heard a knock at the door. For a half second he thought about calling up to Jonathan to go answer it, but really, what were the chances the kid had his headphones off or his door open? Or that he wouldn't just pretend he did to get out of doing his father a favor.

The knocking came again as Martin set down the knife, grabbed a dish towel, and headed for the front door. It was an impatient, grating knock, and Martin sifted through a quick mental list of who on earth would be knocking in such a manner three days before Christmas. Harried postman? Confused pizza delivery driver? Drawing to the end of his reel of suspects, he flipped the towel over his shoulder, and opened the door to find someone he hadn't even thought to consider.

"David Bouchard," he said, his mind utterly failing to offer up an appropriate greeting, in any language.

"Martin," David replied, nodding his head but offering no further information.

"What are you doing here?" Martin asked, and almost immediately felt the need to apologize for his rudeness.

David, it seemed, did not feel the need to wait for an apology. "You sent this," he said, emphatically waving a piece of paper in Martin's face, "to my wife!" Martin grabbed for the paper and ended up knocking his hand against David's wrist. Bringing up his other hand to hold David's arm still, he was able to extract what turned out to be an envelope. He looked from the envelope to David and back, trying to parse what sort of cultural confusion could be at work here.

"It's a Christmas card," Martin explained, as slowly as he could. He switched to French, just to ensure the message was getting across. "I sent your family a Christmas card." He pulled the card out of the envelope -- _Joyeux Noel!_ it declared -- and opened it up to point out the inscription. "I sent it to you, your _ex_-wife, and your daughter."

"I know what you're trying to do here, with your thoughtful letters--"

"--Card--"

"--And your neat hand-writing and your--"

"Have you been drinking?"

"No." David smiled. "Not yet. Do you have anything? Come on, it's cold out here. Invite me in."

 

* * *

 

Martin poured them both a glass of wine while he finished preparing dinner. David leaned against the counter and told an elaborate story about Gabrielle's ballet class and the heated debates surrounding the casting of the Nutcracker; "debates" in this case seemed to mean that David had voiced his displeasure at Gabrielle being cast as neither Clara nor the Sugar Plum Fairy on numerous occasions until he had nearly been banned from attending the performance. It became apparent during the course of the tale that Gabrielle herself had not perceived the casting as any sort of slight. Martin didn't say so out loud, but he rather suspected it was either Gabrielle or Suzie -- or both -- who had suggested a punishment so perfectly suited to getting David to rein in his temper.

Jonathan came down at some point and mumbled a hello to both of them. He didn't ask about David's unexpected presence, but Martin doubted he would have commented if the Queen were standing in the kitchen. The boy had raised feigning disinterest to an art form recently. He did set the table for three without complaint, and answered a couple of questions from David with slightly more than monosyllables, so Martin was content to call it a victory.

"Are you finished packing?" Martin asked as he set down the last dish on the table. David and Jonathan took this as some sort of permission to start piling food on their plates like it was going to be taken away at any moment. That was probably a compliment to his cooking, right?

"Mostly packed," Jonathan said through a mouthful of salad. "I don't fly til tomorrow."

"No, you fly at two o'clock tomorrow, which means we need to leave here by noon, which means when you wake up at eleven you'll barely have enough time to shower before it's time to go," Martin said, ticking off the points on his fingers. There was a resounding silence from either side of the table, and he looked from Jonathan to David and back. The two of them were sharing some sort of look; David laughed first, but Jonathan wasn't far behind. Martin sighed and shook his head, which produced another wave of laughter, but it tapered off when no fresh source of amusement appeared and they applied themselves to the food once more.

Jonathan excused himself as soon as he finished, promising that he really would be packed before the end of the evening; Martin pretended to believe him and reminded himself that they did have shops in England to provide whatever necessities Jonathan would inevitably forget to take along.

"Where is he going?" David asked, getting up to grab the half-empty bottle of wine off the counter. He poured himself another glass and passed it along to Martin.

"Visiting his mother," Martin answered, topping up his own glass.

"Ah," David said. "You celebrate Christmas when he comes back?"

Martin shook his head. "Last night."

"Ah," David said again. "Let me guess: You gave him socks." Martin sat back and cleared his throat; a bit of a tell, he knew. David breathed a laugh. "And you wonder why he wants to go to his mother's?"

"I wouldn't have to give him socks if he didn't run through them like tissue paper. He liked his other gifts." Martin was still pleased with the few moments of genuine reaction he'd gotten from Jonathan on their rescheduled Christmas morning. Yes, he'd had to bribe Iris to do quite a bit of espionage -- and he'd nearly had a heart attack when he saw the price tag on the headphones Jonathan couldn't live without -- but managing to present the right music and DJ equipment to a teenage boy was a bit of magic well worth the effort.

"Well done, then," David said, raising his glass in a toast to... successfully surprising your child with a decent gift? Having to send said child away to spend the holidays on another continent? It was a bit of an ambiguous gesture, but Martin raised his glass in return nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

If Martin had learned anything about David during their brief, strange partnership in the name of hockey and interprovincial understanding, it was that he did not react well to pressure. Not in terms of thinking fast in a stressful situation -- he was certainly capable in that department -- but in terms of becoming defensive and cranky when cornered or questioned. So Martin resisted the urge to ask what the hell David was up to, and tried to roll with it.

He had no clue at all what had driven David to show up at his doorstep, but he refused to give David the satisfaction of hearing him admit it.

 

* * *

 

They chatted a bit longer over the remains of the bottle, innocuous stories about office politics and dumb criminals, until Martin let out a jaw-cracking yawn. "Sorry," he said, still yawning, "Long day."

David waved away the explanation. "I know how you feel. Long drive."

"That it is," Martin agreed, standing and collecting his dish and Jonathan's. He accepted the plate David handed him, and said, "You don't have to--" as David reached for the wine glasses. They clanged gently in his hand as he waved away Martin's concerns once again.

"The guest room should be made up," Martin said, leading David out of the kitchen and shutting off the lights behind him. "Do you need any--"

"Taken care of," David said, his voice low and very close as he slipped by Martin's side and into the front hallway. He turned back, smiling slightly, and hefted a satchel Martin hadn't even noticed him carrying on his arrival. Nice bit of misdirection with the card, Martin admitted grudgingly to himself. He doubted he needed to say it to David, who was looking very pleased with his cleverness indeed.

"Good, of course," Martin said, listening very hard to the voice in his head encouraging him to _roll with it_. It sounded a lot like Iris's voice, to be honest. "Room's this way," he said, leading David down the hall, "And the bathroom's just down there."

"Very nice," David commented when he flicked on the light in the guest room.

He still had trouble determining for certain when David was being sarcastic, but Martin was actually quite proud of what he'd made of the spare room, so he took the comment at face value. "Thank you. I, uh, I guess if you need anything else let me know. I'm just upstairs."

"Thank you, Martin," David said, and this time Martin had no doubt he meant it genuinely. He'd never heard David talk quite like this; it was a bit odd, but not off-putting. Probably just the wine and the hour.

"You're welcome," he answered. "Good night."

 

* * *

 

Despite the wine and the hour, Martin didn't fall asleep for quite some time.

 

* * *

 

When Martin woke up the next morning, he found David running on his treadmill in the study and something that smelled amazing heating in the oven.

"From Gabrielle's favourite bakery," David told him, grabbing the tray out of the oven, "They're best when they're fresh, but these should still be edible." He handed Martin a croissant, warm and crisp and flaky. He wouldn't have guessed that it hadn't been fresh-baked that morning.

They made a dent in the dozen croissants, although Martin did locate some grapes and an apple to contribute a vague hint of nutrition to the meal. Jonathan did his level best to finish off the rest of the pastries when he finally emerged from his room -- at 10:58, Martin noted, but he opted not to gloat about it. True to his prediction, Jonathan had "one last thing" to pack that took half an hour to locate, and Martin was starting to get agitated watching the clock.

"Would you like me to drive?" David asked, and Martin found himself considering the offer. If you wanted to be somewhere in a hurry, there were worse people to put behind the wheel; however, it would require him to be less fond of the actual car attached to said wheel.

"I'll pass," Martin said, which somehow translated into an invitation for David to come along.

 

* * *

 

They reached the airport with a narrower margin of time than Martin preferred, but Jonathan insisted it was fine. He was probably relieved to have less time devoted to a soppy goodbye, though he did allow for a brief hug and a promise to take care of himself.

On the way back, Martin drove as sedately as he could bear. It was petty, but watching David fidget in the passenger seat made him feel calmer. After so many rounds with David managing to push all his buttons, it was deeply satisfying to prove he could push a button or two as well.

"I need to stop by the station," he said, coming to a full stop at an intersection and then smoothly accelerating through. He could almost hear David's teeth grinding. "Just to pick up some paperwork. I'll be quick."

"As if you could," David said, not at all quietly.

Martin smiled. "I'm supposed to be on vacation; MacDuff will kick me out if he catches me. So yeah, I'll be quick."

 

* * *

 

"We have very different definitions of 'quick,' my friend," David said when Martin finally returned. He was leafing through a newspaper, but Martin didn't have the spare brainpower to properly wonder where it had come from. He got in, buckled up, and hit the gas.

 

* * *

 

He still wasn't sure what to say when they got home. If David noticed how quiet he was, he didn't mention it, just made a couple of impolite gestures at the surrounding cars and one sardonic observation about the speed at which Martin was driving. Somehow it turned out to be David opening the refrigerator and digging through the vegetable crisper that set him off.

"Turnips, celery, and lettuce? Where are the real ingredients?" David was holding a turnip up over the top of the refrigerator door, its leafy top flopping pathetically as he shook it.

Martin snatched the turnip out of his hand and slammed it down on the counter. David sat back and let the door fall shut. He stood up slowly, keeping a careful eye on Martin.

"How long were you going to keep this up?" Martin asked, his voice clipped and precise.

"Ah," David said, "I was going to give you another day at least. You are too impatient, Martin."

"Impatient? I let you sleep in my home, let you eat at my table, and I didn't ask what you wanted or push your for answers, and all along I've been thinking..."

"What did you think?" David sounded genuinely curious, which only infuriated Martin further.

"I don't know what I thought! You were acting so odd, I don't know, I thought someone had died!"

"You thought I killed someone?" David asked, incredulous and possibly a little impressed.

"No!" Martin said, horrified. "No, of course not, I just thought... I don't know, it seemed like it might be something awful, Suzie or Gabrielle...."

"No, no, nothing like that," David said quickly. Martin understood; it didn't even bear thinking about.

"Well, yes," Martin said, calming down a bit, "I know that now."

"Ah," David said, "I _knew_ you didn't have paperwork."

"What?" Martin asked, thrown by the non sequitur.

"You said you were picking up papers, but you called LeBoeuf, yes?"

Martin sighed. "Yes, I called LeBoeuf."

"No wonder you took so long," David said, smiling, and Martin had to crack a smile too. The man certainly liked to hear himself talk. "What did he tell you?"

"That you're on suspension. He wouldn't give me details, but he told me that much. None of which explains why you're here and not at home with your family."

"Suzie is seeing her mother for Christmas, and Gabrielle goes too," David said smoothly. "The greatest perk of divorce: no more visits with the in-laws."

"Ah," Martin said. That was actually a very rational explanation, and yet it still felt incomplete. "Why did LeBoeuf suspend you?"

David waved a hand. "It doesn't matter."

"I'm curious," Martin pressed. "Did you put someone in a trunk?"

"No."

"Did you put several people in a trunk?"

"It did not involve a trunk," David ground out.

Martin suppressed a grin. "Give me a hint."

"I cannot solve all your mysteries for you, Martin. You'll get out of practice."

"Given that you create three times as many mysteries as you solve, I think I'll manage to stay sharp enough." He paused a moment, then said, "A small hint. Give me a letter."

"Let's make a deal. You forget the suspension, and I will solve a different mystery for you."

Martin paused and considered this for a long moment. David watched him carefully, his eyes flickering over Martin's face, cataloguing his every tiny reaction. "Okay, deal," Martin agreed. "Why--"

"No," David cut him off, wrapping a hand around his arm, "My choice. Come with me."

Martin went along quietly, his mind still shuffling pieces of data, trying to fashion a picture that explained David's presence here. He was preoccupied enough to barely register David's hand slipping down his arm to clasp his wrist and finally his palm, which honestly was a pretty big clue. Martin let himself be led into the dim guest room, bumping into David when he stopped short just inside the door.

It was a surprisingly soft kiss -- at first -- leaving Martin room to back away if he needed to without having to shove David. Of course, backing away was the last thing on his mind. This wasn't the last piece of the puzzle fitting neatly into place; he'd put the pieces together already, he'd just been looking at it from the wrong angle.

 

* * *

 

Quite a while later -- Martin wasn't sure what time it was, and was feeling too relaxed to want to worry about it -- hunger finally necessitated a trip to the kitchen. When he returned to the guest room, chewing greedily on the last croissant, he paused a moment in the doorway to consider the jumble of blankets on the bed. David had probably counted his footsteps coming down the hall, and was certainly listening to him breathing at the threshold. Martin waited for David to open his eyes, smiled fondly, and tossed the cold turnip directly at his bare chest.

He suspected he'd never get a full explanation of this suspension business from David, but he wasn't worried. He had friends in Montreal, and he was pretty sure Jeff, the chattiest coroner in town, would be willing to share all the good stories.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel kind of guilty that as a non-Francophone I was forced to write the English-dubbed version of this fic. I hope you enjoy it despite this small betrayal of the source material.


End file.
